Ruby Regret
by fluffmania207
Summary: This is my imagining of the final conversation between Angela and Patrick on the night of the Red John attack. And my reason for what keeps Patrick awake at night.


Ruby Regret

 **A/N: This is a conversation I thought of that could have happened between Angela and Patrick the night of Red John's attack. I created the date of the attack of my own accord, so I reserve poetic license on that front. Please enjoy. Thanks.**

29 October 2003, Malibu, California

Patrick Jane ran the comb one last time through his hair and smiled into the mirror. He straightened his cream tie and turned on his heels to go. He stopped short. His wife, Angela, stood behind him, arms folded. She did not look happy. "I don't want you doing this, Patrick."

Patrick frowned at her in mock confusion. This wasn't the first argument they had had of this kind. "Doing what?"

Angela scowled, her lovely features distorting in frustration. "Lying to those people. Especially on TV."

Patrick walked past her and picked up his light grey suit jacket. "It's not lying, honey. I'm just not telling them the whole truth."

Angela followed him out of the bedroom they shared and onto the landing. "What's the difference, Patrick? Those people think you are really talking to their dead relatives. You know you're not."

Patrick turned to face her. He held out his hands. "That's perspective."

Angela folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. "That's lying."

Patrick turned away again. "Call it what you want, Angie, it pays for your bad habits, like food and expensive clothing."

Angela followed him as he started down the long staircase. She hated it when he got like that. "Patrick, you promised me you wouldn't do shows anymore."

Patrick turned to face her two steps below her. "This is the last one."

Angela threw her hands up in frustration. Her voice got louder. "You said that four shows ago."

Patrick raised his eyebrow. "So? They asked me to. I couldn't say no to them."

Angela put her hands on her hips and looked down at him. "Patrick, lying to those people is one thing. But lying to me, you know how I feel about that."

Patrick was getting angry now. Angela just didn't understand that he needed to work, to be in the limelight. It wasn't something she would ever understand. "Listen here," he glared up at her. "I never once lied to you. You keep telling me to stop. I never said I would. I can't control who asks me to do shows. Besides, this show will be enough money to finally take you to Paris."

Angela stalked past him down the stairs in frustration. "Patrick, I don't care about Paris. I am asking you to call and cancel this show. Do not go on TV tonight."

Patrick caught up with her at the bottom of the stairs. "Why the hell would I want to do that?"

Angela turned abruptly to face him. She was getting angrier and angrier with this man, and snapped at him in frustration. "Because you have a big mouth and I have a bad feeling."

Patrick looked at her in shock. Their four year old daughter, Charlotte, peered at them around the railing at the top of the stairs. When both parents looked up, she vanished. They both heard her door close. They looked back at each other. Patrick stepped away from his wife. "Angie, I am doing the show."

Angela turned away from him. "Patrick, I don't want you to do it."

Patrick followed her as she walked into their open plan kitchen and dining room. "It's always about what you want, isn't it?"

Angela swung around to face him, brandishing a carving knife. "Patrick Jane, it is never about what I want. I want you to stop this childish game you play with yourself and others. I want to be able to tell my daughter the truth about what her father does, instead of lying to her. And I want you to give up this dishonest career."

Patrick stepped out of the way of the swinging knife. "And what do you suppose I would be doing then?"

Angela turned away and began slicking vegetables. "I don't know," she muttered under her breath. "Maybe get a real job instead."

Patrick leant forwards sarcastically. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

Angela threw the knife down onto the black granite surface in anger. She swung around to face him, her features scarlet with fury. "Why don't you get a real job instead?"

That got Patrick mad. He stepped back and clenched his fists in rage. He had vowed to never hit his wife, after watching his father beat his mother, and he stuck to that vow. But he looked at his wife, enraged that she would have ever said such a thing to him. "Now look here," he said, pointing a finger at her. "My job supports you and Charlotte. It gives you food, clothes, and this house. If you can't appreciate that…"

Angela cut him off. "Patrick, it's not about the money. It's about the way you get the money. You lie to people, and you lie to your family. I'm surprised you even know what the truth is anymore."

Patrick was still fuming. "Angela, do you like living in this house? Do you enjoy the high society life? Because if you want to enjoy all of that, you need to accept where the money comes from to pay for all of it."

Angela shut her eyes in an effort to calm herself down. "Patrick, you enjoy the high life. I couldn't care where I live or what I do, as long as I have my family, I'm happy. It is you who needs to accept that what you do is wrong, and it is hurting the family that loves you."

Patrick pulled his suit jacket on. "I don't need to accept anything, Angela."

Angela picked up her knife and went back to slicing her vegetables. "That's your problem, Patrick. Nothing is ever your fault. You treat your family like marks, people to be conned. When will you wake up and realise your mistake?"

Patrick straightened his jacket. "Angela, we will pick this up later. I'm now late."

Angela said nothing, and continued her preparation for dinner. Patrick turned and headed out to the entrance hall. Charlotte stood there, in her pyjamas, looking up at her father. "Patrick placed his hand on her head. "Daddy will see you later, sweetie."

Charlotte nodded, and watched as her father grabbed the keys to his car and headed out of his front door. Then she turned back to the kitchen, and watched her mother begin to cry over the carrots she was slicing. Charlotte wandered into the kitchen and wrapped her arms around Angela's waist. Angela held her close with one hand, and wiped her eyes with the other. "It's going to be okay," she whispered, more to herself than to her daughter.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

It was past eleven when Patrick finally left the studio. He had pushed the fight aside, and given a stellar performance for the crowds. The hosts had surprised him a bit with the question about that serial killer Red John, but he had enough practice to think on his feet and spout some crap that would have had the viewers in awe.

Besides, what he had said wasn't strictly a lie. He had said some stuff, and the crowd had lapped it up like the fools they were. He knew he was going back to a moody wife, but he had the charms to fix it, to make it right with her.

He finally pulled his silver sedan into the driveway just before midnight. He entered the front door and tossed some mail onto the table near the door. The fact that the lamp was switched on wasn't odd; Angela often left it on if she knew he was going to be home late. The rest of the house lights were still on, and that bugged him a little. He figured Angela had been angry and had just forgotten to switch them all of when she went to bed. He pushed a pink tricycle out of the way. Charlotte's favourite birthday present from her parents.

He headed up the stairs and down the hall to the master bedroom. As he got closer to the door, something caught his attention. There was a piece of paper taped to the door with typing on it. He stepped closer to read it, thinking it was an apology from his wife.

"Dear mister Jane,  
I do not like to be slandered in the  
media, especially by a dirty money-  
grubbing fraud.  
If you were a real psychic, instead of a  
dishonest little worm, you wouldn't  
need to open the door to see what I've  
done to your lovely wife and child."

Patrick felt his skin turn cold. This definitely wasn't his wife. His heart began to race, and he felt his breathing shake. He reached for the handle, and slowly pushed the door open. There were no lights on in the room, but the light from the hallway streamed in, and he felt his knees go weak. There was a large smiley on the wall directly ahead of him. He braced against the doorframe, and looked helplessly at the bed. There was nothing he could do. Angela's last words to him echoed in his ears. The pain washed over him, and he dropped to his hands and knees in the doorway.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

The last words his wife said to him continued to echo; the regret burned into his mind. He never got to say good bye, never got to tell his wife he loved her, and he never hugged his daughter for the last time. He hadn't even had the chance to call his wife and tell her he was sorry. But now, he understood. He understood what Angela had been telling him.

It was too late. Patrick sat on the edge of the bed in the mental hospital and cried. That was all he could do. Because he was too late.

 **A/N2: I hope you enjoyed this. Please leave me a review and tell me what you think. Thank you.**

 **Until next time,  
S**


End file.
